Henry Spencer:  A Year in the Life
by Collegekid2006
Summary: Henry's journal. It's January, 1990...everything is great in the life of Spencer. He has his career, his family...even if they do drive him insane.Little does he know it's about to become the most eventful year of his life.
1. Chapter 1

**December 25, 1989 **

I've gotten some crappy Christmas presents from Shawn before.

Ugly socks.

Ties even a clown wouldn't wear.

A toy police badge (why would I need that? I have a real one.)

Useless crap made out of Play-Doh.

Scribbling on paper I'm supposed to call "art".

Actually...compared to those, this journal isn't so bad.

At least it's practical.

Sort of.

Not that I'll ever use it. The only reason I'm writing in it now is because he's staring at me like he'll cry if I don't.

I wouldn't put it past him. He'd do it just to piss me off.

**January 1, 1990 **

Apparently, I need a New Year's resolution.

I don't know why. I've never had one before, and I've somehow managed to survive.

It's some stupid assignment Shawn brought home from school. It's supposed to "improve family communication" or be a "bonding experience" or some such crap.

It _has_ been educational.

I've already learned that, apparently, my taxes are going to pay the salary of some touchy-feely moron whose only qualification for becoming a teacher was a desire to get out of going to Vietnam.

According to Mel, however, making sarcastic observations about my son's teacher (no matter how true) isn't a resolution.

I don't see why not. I'm resolved to do it.

Regularly.

I've also resolved to see if this imbecile has any unpaid parking tickets.

God, I hope he does.

Anyway, since neither of those technically count for Shawn's class assignment (even though they should), I have to write in this stupid thing everything day now. That's my "official" resolution.

Not my idea.

And I'm still sticking with my original choice.

Mr. Steven K. Cartwright is about to wish he never screwed with me.


	2. Chapter 2

**January 4, 1990**

Damn.

No parking tickets.

But I did clock him doing 42 in a 35 zone yesterday.

And he let his parking meter expire for three whole minutes today.

Two violations in two days.

And they let this clown be a teacher.

**February 2, 1990**

I know I'm doing it again, but I don't care.

It drives Mel nuts when I bring cases home with me.

What the hell does she want me to do?

I can't just leave a dead teenager on my desk until tomorrow.

I can't just go home to dinner at 5 o'clock and leave an arson or robbery or kidnapping unsolved.

That's not how it works.

That's not how I work.

I'm not a damn accountant or something.

I'm a cop.

After 15 years, she should get that.

She'll never get that.

**February 10, 1990**

Is it really that hard?

Is the concept that difficult?

It's just basic logic.

We agreed that if Shawn got an A in math, he could go to the stupid concert with Gus.

He didn't get an A.

Therefore…

Easy, right?

Logical.

Straight forward.

He can't go to the concert.

Apparently not.

Apparently, I forgot that in Shawn and Melanie World, logic doesn't apply.

I forgot that in their little Universe, there are no rules. There are no consequences, deals, order or reason.

I forgot that in their little Universe, Shawn can bring home a C and still get to do whatever the hell he wants.

I forgot that in their little Universe, I'm just the jerk who lives in reality and rains on their parade of gumdrops and sunshine.

I forgot that I'm the villain in my own damn house.

**February 22, 1990**

Sometimes…

Just sometimes…

Shawn isn't a complete slacker.

Sometimes…

Just occasionally…

He goes and pulls something like this.

I came home late last night from work (again). He was still up, sitting at the kitchen table, looking through my crime scene photos.

"Shawn, don't touch those. They're not toys," I told him, putting my bag on the table.

He just ignored me.

Like always.

Shawn World.

"Dad, what's this?" He asked, holding up a picture of a woman who had been murdered during a robbery.

"It's a dead body, Shawn."

"No. I mean her hand."

"What about her hand?"

"Why is her ring tan line so much bigger than the ring? Isn't that weird?"

I looked again.

He was right.

The tan line was at least twice as thick as the ring itself.

How did I miss that one?

"Yeah," I admitted. "It's weird."

I didn't tell him how weird it was.

I checked the ring out today. It was a fake. Which means that whoever robbed her didn't want us looking for the real ring, so they tried to replace it with a cheap replica.

Once we hit the pawn shops, it took us an hour to break the case.

I didn't tell Shawn about it.

Why give him a swelled head?

But maybe…

Just maybe…

the kid won't be a total washout after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**March 4, 1990**

I haven't been fishing in months.

I haven't had a day off in months.

I just closed a triple homicide. Two of the victims were under ten years old. The perp was fourteen.

God, I need to go fishing.

**March 20, 1990**

That boy is going to finish something.

If it kills me.

If it kills _him_!

He will finish something he starts.

At this point, I don't even care what.

The model plane we started building last year.

Guitar lessons.

Drum lessons.

Learning Ancient Hebrew.

The doghouse.

School.

Something!

How the hell is he going to function in the real world, much less be a decent cop, if he can't even finish a damn doghouse?

How is he going to function in the real world if all he learns from his mom is how to make excuses?

**April 2, 1990**

I haven't been home in two days.

I haven't slept in three.

I haven't spoken to Mel in four. Not since the fight.

When I do finally go home, she won't be there.

She never is after a fight.

**April 7, 1990**

Mel's still at her parent's.

Shawn's still pissed. At me, of course.

Just business as usual around here.

I'd call her…except I don't really feel like hearing about what an insensitive jerk I am.

Again.

I know it's coming. That's how this always goes.

It's not my fault she's a damn drama queen.

**April 16, 1990**

Finally, I can go fishing.

I just closed two cases today. I'm taking tomorrow off, before I get hit with more.

Shawn doesn't have school. Maybe I'll take him along.

Of course, if he comes, we won't catch anything. We never do. The kid won't shut up, so no fish will come within ten miles of us. He also can't leave his line in the water for more than six seconds without pulling it up to see if he caught anything.

Oh, well.

Who goes fishing to catch fish, anyway?

**April 27, 1990**

They're giving me a partner.

After six years of working alone, they're making me get a damn partner!

She'll be in town tomorrow.

Karen…something. I don't know.

She had better not be annoying. Or some bubble-headed blonde moron.

That's all I need.


	4. Chapter 4

**May 2, 1990 **

Well, she's blonde.

My new partner, that is.

Karen Vick.

At least once a week, her socks are mismatched.

And when she gets change, she just shoves the bills in her pocket so they're all wrinkled and balled-up when she pulls them back out.

But at least she can think.

She's relatively sharp, actually.

Most of the time.

When socks aren't involved.

**May 11, 1990 **

Mel is so damn melodramatic.

Everything has to be a production.

Even finally moving into an apartment nearby.

For God's sake, just do it.

I think she was mad that I sent Shawn to Gus' for the night, so he wasn't around to see The Melanie Show.

Why would I want him around for that? What good would it do?

Of course, now I get to be the one to tell him when he comes home tomorrow…

And how do I already know that, somehow, it's going to be all my fault?

**May 18, 1990 **

It's been a month.

A month since Mel left.

A month since she's seen Shawn.

A month since she's checked his homework or made sure he went to bed at a decent hour.

A month since she made his lunch for school and made sure he caught the bus in the morning.

A month since she's picked up a damn phone and called him.

Hell, she barely even asked about him when she moved out last week.

But now I'm supposed to drop everything so he can spend the weekend with her. And it's not even because she wants him to.

It's because he wants to go.

He can't wait to go.

What the hell am I supposed to do with that?

**May 20 **

If Shawn's not going to finish the doghouse he started months ago, I'm just throwing it out.

Tonight, while he's still at Mel's.

The damn thing's a wreck. Completely half-assed from beginning to end.

Just like everything he does.

He worked on it for an hour or two, then got frustrated and just gave up.

"I can't make a doghouse! I don't know how!"

He hasn't touched it since. It's just been sitting in the garage, rotting and collecting dust. I've had to stare at the stupid thing all weekend while I've been working on the truck.

It never occurred to him that I know how to build a doghouse.

It never occurred to him to ask for help.

It never occurred to him that he didn't have to do it by himself.


	5. Chapter 5

**June 3, 1990 **

I'm always the last one at the station. Especially lately, now that Shawn is staying with Mel.

Just for the summer, until school starts back up.

At least, that's what I've been told.

Yet another decision I had no part in.

Anyway, after five o'clock, I'm alone. Everyone else goes home, and I can finally get some actual work done without anyone bothering me with stupid little things I'm supposed to pretend I care about.

Everything always goes so much smoother when there aren't any people around.

Except tonight, Karen didn't go home at five, either.

Or six.

Or seven.

Not that it bugged me too much to have her around. She isn't nearly as annoying as most people, and she's actually turning into one hell of an investigator.

But something was bothering her. She didn't want to go home. I intentionally didn't ask what it was. That's one of those questions people answer even when you really just want them to say "nothing" and move on.

Apparently, she decided that if I wasn't going to ask, she'd just tell me anyway.

Mel does the same thing.

It irritates the hell out of me. If I wanted to know, I'd ask.

"He just doesn't understand…" she started, and didn't even have to finish. I already knew what was coming.

I've heard it from every single cop on the force.

She just got married (her ring hasn't even left a tanline yet) to a non-cop. A civilian.

Civilians don't get it.

They never get it.

They don't understand why you can't clean up after a homicide and then come home an hour later and suddenly be happy.

They don't understand why you can't leave early to be at your kid's baseball game when there's a hostage situation downtown.

They don't understand why you can't just forget when you've seen a dead kid in a gutter or some family that was tortured and murdered in their own house.

Only another cop can understand what that does to your mind.

I should have told Karen the truth. It won't get better. Ever. He'll never understand, not if they're married for 50 years.

Or 15.

But I didn't tell her. She's still naïve enough to think it'll work out.

I didn't lie and say tell her it would all be roses, either.

I just went home.

**June 14. 1990 **

She really is one hell of an investigator.

Karen, that is.

Every case, she picks something up… learns a little more. When we're at a crime scene, I can see her wheels turning. I can see her absorbing everything.

She's also stayed late at the station pretty much every night.

She keeps holding out for him to suddenly get it.

It won't happen.

The only people who really understand cops are other cops.


	6. Chapter 6

**June 29, 1990 **

I'm not going to call.

Why should I call him?

I'm not the one who left.

He hasn't called me. Not since he took off for the summer without even bothering to tell me.

I'm not going to call.

And I'm really going to throw out that damn doghouse this time.

He's never going to finish it, anyway.

**July 3, 1990 **

I'm taking tomorrow off.

I always take July 4th off.

There's not really a point this year, but I'm doing it, anyway.

Usually, I go fishing. It's one of the three or four times a year I actually get to go.

Usually, Shawn comes along.

Usually, he drags me to the stupid fireworks after.

But he's still with Mel.

So at least I'll actually catch something this year.

And, for once, I won't have to listen to him babble incoherently for eight straight hours.

And I won't have to sit through those damn fireworks.

**July 5, 1990 **

Turns out, I didn't catch anything after all.

Again.

The kid still can't sit still or shut up.

He'll never learn.

Sure as hell doesn't get that from me.

But he did call. And he kept his line in the water for a record four minutes and sixteen seconds.

So, that's something.

Sort of…

Maybe he is starting to learn.

Maybe I'm starting to crack through that thick skull…

Maybe he'll even finish the doghouse…someday…

I guess that means I have to keep the damn thing around.

**July 20, 1990 **

I'm stuck going on a stake-out.

I hate stake-outs.

It'll probably kill the whole weekend.

Two, maybe three, straight days.

Sitting in a car.

With someone else, since they won't let me just do it alone.

Karen is supposed to have the weekend off. But I am sure as hell not going to spend three days in a car with some moron who won't shut up.

At least she knows how to shut up. Most of the time.

And she doesn't annoy the crap out of me when she doesn't shut up.

So, if I have to go on this stupid thing, so does she.


	7. Chapter 7

**August 1, 1990 **

Why am I still writing in this stupid thing?

It wasn't my idea in the first place.

I didn't even want to do it.

I didn't want any part of it.

And Shawn's school assignment ended months ago.

I could have stopped pretending to write in this stupid thing months ago.

So…why the hell didn't I stop pretending to write in this stupid thing months ago?

**August 22, 1990 **

His stuff's gone.

All of it.

They cleaned out his room while I was working.

Apparently, he's not coming back when school starts after all.

No one bothered to tell me that.

It was just supposed to be for the summer.

When the hell did I lose control of my own damn life?

When the hell did I lose control of my own damn son?

Of course, he left the doghouse in the garage. He didn't bother to take that with him.

What the hell am I supposed to do with it?

I don't want it.

It's an eyesore.

Completely inadequate.

He left his fishing pole, too.

Just as well. He probably couldn't figure out how to use the damn thing by himself, anyway.

**September 12, 1990 **

I think she's finally starting to get the picture.

Karen, that is.

Tonight was her third night this week staying late at the station.

Just the two of us.

Last week, she stayed four.

She's stopped even trying to pretend everything's okay.

She's even starting to talk like a realist instead of a naïve little kid.

She said she doesn't think he'll ever get it.

She said she doesn't think it's working.

She even mentioned just getting out of it before it's too late.

I didn't say anything.

What the hell was I supposed to say?

I think she's right.

And that has nothing to do with the fact that my divorce just became final yesterday.

**October 1, 1990 **

Shawn came for the weekend.

He didn't say a word to me the whole time.

The whole damn time.

I didn't say anything to him, either.

Two straight days of complete silence.

The only time in his life that kid has ever shut up.


	8. Chapter 8

**October 17, 1990**

She did it.

She left him.

She hasn't said anything about it, but I know the signs.

I've been there.

Her car is full of take-out wrappers and bags and she's worn the same socks and pants for the last three days.

Which means she hasn't been home in at least three days.

I guess she finally figured out the score.

Or she got sick of pretending she didn't know the score all along.

**October 31, 1990**

God, I hate Halloween.

There's always some group of punks going around smashing pumpkins or egging houses. Then an uptight housewife calls it in and I have to waste the rest of my night filling out vandalism reports and pretending I give a crap about their stupid Jack-O-lanterns.

It happens the same way every damn year.

I never even bothered taking Shawn Trick-or-Treating when he was a kid. I knew I'd get to one house and have to leave to go hunt down pumpkin smashers.

Mel always took him.

**November 14, 1990**

Karen's left him and gone back at least a dozen times over the last month.

Even though she never says anything, I always know the days when she didn't go home.

I just look at her socks.

Most days, I don't even have to check her socks. It's all in her face.

The only days she smiles are the days she's been home.

**November 26, 1990**

I picked up Bill Vick.

It took three hours of tailing, but I finally nailed him going 60 in a 55 zone.

And maybe I thought his tags were expired.

And maybe I had reason to suspect there were drugs in the car, which may have given me probable cause to drag him down to the station and let him sit in interrogation, alone, for two hours.

And maybe when I finally went in to talk to him, he somehow got the impression that I could make his life hell if he kept going around pissing off cops.

Cops like his wife.

And maybe he finally got the idea that he shouldn't do that anymore.

**December 3, 1990**

Shawn came over for the weekend.

He didn't shut up the whole time.

The whole damn time.

God, I wish that kid would just shut up for five minutes.

And I wish he'd take care of his stuff.

He forgot his pillow and some clothes over here when he went back to Mel's.

And his toothbrush.

Who the hell forgets their toothbrush?

He just shrugged when I pointed it out to him.

"I have two," he said.

**December 15**

Karen hasn't stayed late at the station in weeks.

It's just me again.

At least I get more work done.

And at least I don't have to check her socks.

**December 25**

I've gotten some crappy gifts from Shawn before.

The ties.

The Play-doh.

But _another_ journal?  
What the hell do I need with that?

"Your old one is full, Dad," he told me.

So, of course, I had to tell him that it certainly is _not _full.

I barely write in the stupid thing.

I still have two whole pages left.


End file.
